


Amalthea

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-16
Updated: 2017-03-16
Packaged: 2018-10-06 00:06:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10320713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: After joining, Círdan finds Lindir watching the sea.





	

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Fill for icecoldcupof-lindirsdoneness’ “lindir/cirdan” request on [my tumblr](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/post/158362385615/any-newultra-rare-tolkien-or-trek-ships-i-should).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Hobbit or The Lord of the Rings or The Silmarillion or any of their contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Círdan has, perhaps, met more elves than any other, and he’s truly _known_ more than a few. The one that stands out on the balcony of his quarters isn’t one of the great beauties, nor an accomplished warrior, not known for any skill in particular. But seeing him silhouetted in the morning sun still brings Círdan’s heart a certain peace, a certain fondness. There are other guests to attend to, more chores to be done, and _always_ ships to plan, but for these moments, he makes an exception. He wonders, sometimes, if this is how Ossë feels, watching younger creatures wander about the shore.

He drifts towards the balcony as he refastens his robes, and by the time he’s reached Lindir’s side, he’s pristine again. Lindir is still half undressed, his rings and circlet left on the bedside table, his robes only halfway fastened, and his hands clutching his cape at his collar. He seems to have forgotten his own state, his concentration locked elsewhere. Beyond the walls of Círdan’s keep, beyond the city below, beyond the pier, Lindir’s gaze is lost at sea. His dark hair is ruffled, here and there, in the passing breeze. His cheeks are rosy from the open air, his plush lips slightly parted. The streets are busy below and the gulls are singing, but there was a point, last night, where Lindir’s song drowned them out. As much as Círdan thoroughly enjoyed it, enjoys all breaks in his age-long routine, he always loves this morning music. He understands the awe on Lindir’s youthful features. 

He derives joy out of seeing it anew through another’s eyes, and he voices softly, “It is beautiful, isn’t it?”

Lindir starts as though noticing Círdan for the first time. But then his gaze turns, and a new fire has come into his eyes: a strange _lust_ that’s sprung from admiration. He still smells of their love making, still looks slightly tousled, pink circles lining his pale throat. With total reverence, Lindir murmurs, “All my life, I had heard tales of your talent, of your craftsmanship, your knowledge, but I never imagined...” He stops to shake his head, turning back to the sea, and can seem to say no more. His eyes are wide with it; Círdan can see the crashing waves in them. 

Círdan sighs, “I have had many long years to do all that I have, and I have known a great many with more skills than I.” Lindir subtly shakes his head, disbelieving, and Círdan adds with a touch of affection, “You will divine great things in your own time.”

A small smile crinkles Lindir’s lips. But he bows his head, and Círdan knows that he doesn’t believe it. Círdan doesn’t press the issue. For a moment, Lindir is still, and then he lets out a heavy breath and whispers into the wind, “It will be difficult to leave.”

“But you must,” Círdan says. He certainly would enjoy it if Lindir stayed—such a sweet songbird would always be welcome in his home. But he knows that this isn’t where Lindir will blossom, and he coaxes, “Your lord will be leaving soon, and you must go with him.”

It speaks of just how enamoured Lindir is when he repeats, “Must I?”

“Yes. You are too young for this. What you feel is not the purpose of my people, but the longing all elves hold for the sea. You will return, in time, when you are ready.”

Slowly, Lindir nods. Eyeing the closest ship, its broad bow and high sails, he concedes, “When Lord Elrond sails, I will go with him. But...” He pauses, glancing sideways again. “Will you still be here?”

Círdan almost laughs. “I will be here long after you, little one. I will not leave these shores until all others have.”

“Then I will see you again.” The genuine smile Lindir wears, slightly sad for tomorrow but warm nonetheless, is the most endearing thing Círdan’s seen in years. 

Círdan promises, “Yes,” and leans forward to press his lips to Lindir’s, chaste and swift. 

Lindir reaches one hand to weave into Círdan’s white hair and asks, “Before I must leave... may I have the honour of sharing such a great lord’s bed again?”

Círdan assures him, “The pleasure is all mine.” He lifts easily to kiss Lindir’s forehead, and Lindir ducks his head in a radiant smile, then strolls past Círdan, back into the bedroom, and sheds his cape into the seaside breeze.


End file.
